


cherry girls

by bee (keebiki)



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hope's Peak Academy (Dangan Ronpa), Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Domestic Fluff, F/F, Female Oma Kokichi, Female Saihara Shuichi, Genderbending, Oma Kokichi Is Bad at Feelings, Rule 63, Slice of Life tbh, ggshdjdje ao3 tags are so funny the urge to tag like an artist is so strong rn, its rated T because Ouma says a bad word and bc they kiss but thats it LMAO
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21642883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keebiki/pseuds/bee
Summary: Saihara puzzled a few seconds longer when Ouma flicked her gaze up to make eye contact for a brief, shy moment before looking back down at her shoulder. Her lips pressed together, and Saihara thought that she looked like she was almost waiting for something, and then it clicked. Ouma wanted Saihara to “show her”, but didn’t know how to ask.(a super brainless fem ousai fic for the girls)
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 113





	cherry girls

**Author's Note:**

> oh boy. there is NO fem ousai content in the v3 archive except for like 2 fic. and by god the audience deserves more and i, the Audience, will create more if its the last thing i do. i wonder how many of my ig followers will realize my username and the topic and put two and two together bc i rly dont feel like linking my ig or tumblr just yet LMAOOO, anyways. stan fem ousai all hail the sapphics! EDIT (083020): I did. not like the writing here at all and felt it was really awkward so i tried to revamp it? I would probably have written it differently if I wrote this story right now but I don’t really care for that lolll. Anyways updates to dialogue, the flow of the story, and the general writing ig??? Idk im not an author lol

Saihara jolted violently awake to a loud wail of her name, her body folding unattractively like a paper card as a small body slammed into her side. The poor, disregarded textbook snapped shut, just barely being saved from crinkled pages, and Saihara felt its smooth cover slip through her fingers to the swishing tune of her girlfriend pushing her arms away from the desk and around Ouma’s body. The culprit herself sighed, content in the face of Saihara’s confusion, as she took her place on Saihara’s lap, nuzzling into the detective’s shoulder.

By the time she found herself able to hear more than the loud thundering of her own befuddled heart, Saihara found herself mildly amused. Vaguely, she felt that she had expected this; today was the last Friday right before the winter recess, and the two girls would no longer have the easy access to each other of a simple crossing of the dorms, what with Saihara leaving to her Uncle’s agency in Tokyo and Ouma to DICE’s base in Osaka. Realistically, a few trains  _ could  _ connect them, and as Hope’s Peak students, they were never in want of resources needed to travel. But as individuals, Saihara was a workaholic and Ouma had a horde of responsibilities, and neither was the type to miss each other so badly over a short 10-day break to go as far as traveling almost a quarter across the country to see each other. Instead, Saihara was happy to accept that her little politician of a girlfriend would blow up her phone every few hours as though the world was ending, even if she would swear up and down that she had absolutely no intention to contact Saihara unnecessarily at all. 

But Saihara liked to think that Ouma lived their relationship like they were still in their honeymoon phase, even after months of dating and even longer of walking shy tiptoes around each other. It was Ouma’s first real relationship, no matter what she tried to convince the world otherwise, so Saihara thought it was fair that Ouma tended to be extremely clingy and transparent in private, even more so when they would not see each other for some time.

The detective tilted her head against her girlfriend, burying her nose into the purple-dyed hair, and breathed softly into the citrusy warmth. She absently stroked Ouma’s back, slumping slightly in her chair so Ouma could melt into her body better. The smaller girl sighed and tucked herself small into the space between their chests, and Saihara wondered at Ouma’s vulnerability, a stark contrast from the impenetrable firewalls she had put up with during their early dances around each other. Saihara loved her like this, loved her little tyrant that had been all but waiting to let her masks down in front of someone she truly trusted. Fulfilled in Ouma’s arms, Saihara was ever grateful that she was that trusted person.

Ouma did not move for many more minutes except for a steady breath and Saihara indulged this, petting along the knobby curve of her spine. She imagined Ouma had perhaps come here just to sleep and had done just that, but in the moments before moving the pair to the bed, the girl pushed herself upwards and sat, her back supported against the edge of the desk. She looked like a cat on a lazy afternoon, eyes relaxed and grin sharp, probably tired but unwilling to sleep just yet. Saihara felt her heart skip a beat as Ouma yawned noisily, her own lips curving upwards as she quietly traced her girlfriend’s features. 

_ She really is so pretty,  _ Saihara mused.  _ I’m gonna miss her in Tokyo.  _

Ouma’s eyes narrowed and she brought a hand up to her mouth. 

“Awww, is Saihara-chan having mushy-gushy thoughts about me?” Ouma snickered, knuckles pressed against pearly teeth. “That smile is sooo telling, Saihara-chan! Gosh, that’s sooo gross, who even does that? Sure wouldn’t be  _ me. _ ” She fake gagged for effect and beamed.

Saihara’s lips quirked up, amused, and she played along.

“Ah, but isn’t Ouma-chan acting like she wasn’t having them first? I must be getting rusty...I wonder who I was just holding, then, if it  _ obviously  _ couldn’t have been  _ you. _ ”

Ouma’s face heated up, and she whinnied out a laugh instead of conceding, hand waving while she taunted right back.

“It’s so cute when little Saihara-chan tries to use her ‘evidence’ to prove me wrong!” Ouma crooked two fingers into the universal sign for quotation with one hand and pinched Saihara’s cheek with the other, pulling this way and that. “We all know that a super-cool Supreme Leader has no time for such silly thoughts. No offense Saihara-chan but you’re really low on my to-do list right now. Who do you take me for? A  _ cherry girl?  _ As if! You’re just a really comfy pillow, if you want a piece of me then get in line!” 

Saihara’s cheeks heated up, embarrassed but fondly accustomed to the sort of language Ouma used when she wanted to be a gremlin. She silently let the smaller girl scold her some more, finger-wagging as she sang her own praises and delved further and further into sly and surprisingly convoluted but innocent innuendos, until Saihara’s face was beet-red and Ouma’s had a fair dusting of pink around her cheekbones. Ouma clung, belted legs wrapped around a buttoned waist while dry, bony hands flicked soft, french-manicured ones away, one voice murmuring shy protests and the other laughing away, drunken on languor and thrill.

At some point, even Ouma Kokichi runs out of things to say, and Saihara saw her chance for revenge when her girlfriend began doing less talking and more giggling. She grabbed Ouma’s hands and leaned in close, aiming to tease the other into flustered defeat, and Ouma startled mid-giggle, eyes wide. Saihara took this as an opportunity to smoothly bring their conversation back to where the rant had started from. 

“Has this really been on your mind for so long, Ouma-chan?” Saihara fake-worried, “You think I think you’re a - what did you call it - a cherry girl? But, Ouma-chan…have you even french-kissed another girl before? I’m even willing to believe I was Ouma-chan’s  _ first  _ kiss, honestly, and she just acted her way out of it, so is that even wrong to deduce...”

Saihara smothered a chuckle as she trailed off, schooling her expression to stay still and earnest, completely aware that this was, in fact, exactly what Ouma had done, and Ouma had probably thought she had gotten away with it. 

The little liar blanked out at the revelation that Saihara had been in-the-know, and Saihara’s mind had a rush of stunned glee as slim hands hid a turned face into tight-gripped curls, reminiscent of a certain girl she knew. Their sibling similarities really do shine through, sometimes, Saihara considered.

“I’ve kissed other girls before,” Ouma mumbled, uncharacteristically embarrassed, from behind her hair. Just enough of her face showed for Saihara to be aimed with a thorough stink eye. “Just because I don’t think everyone’s as worthy as Saihara-chan doesn’t mean I can’t work magic with my mouth whenever I want.” She peeked out, pouting, from beneath her dark tips, eyes narrowed and assessing. 

Saihara hummed, still blankly smiling, and, without warning, pecked Ouma’s lips. She ignored the small squawk she got in reply, and she cheerfully said, “Alright, love, whatever you say.”

Ouma tore her hands away from her face and huffed, and Saihara waited patiently. Ouma either did something to the nines or didn’t do it at all, and kissing was included in that. And since she didn’t exactly have anyone else to “practice” with and was too shy to ask for what she wanted from her girlfriend, Ouma, for lack of better phrase, had no idea what she was doing, even after months of dating. 

Saihara forced a giggle back down her throat when Ouma smashed her lips sloppily against Saihara’s, mouth open and forceful. It was as inexperienced as she was, probably an imitation of a kiss from one of Iruma’s borrowed yuri manga, and very cute.

Saihara pulled backwards, a hand on Ouma’s chest as the smaller girl tried to push forward, affronted by the break in the kiss. Saihara smiled softly, teasingly, and brought her hands to Ouma’s waist and neck, one wrapping around her side and the other gripping her chin. 

“Ouma-chan, there’s nothing wrong with being inexperienced. You don’t need to try to know everything, you know.” She leaned in closer until they were nose to nose, Ouma’s eye wide and bright. “You could just ask and I would show you.” 

A hand flew to a bare collarbone, evidently searching for a checkered scarf to play with, and Ouma averted her eyes, a deep flush high in her face. Saihara closed her eyes and brought the hand gripping Ouma’s chin down to her neck, and stroked softly, lovingly, next to Ouma’s own hand. 

A minute passed like this, and Saihara felt the heat from her own skin draining to settle into her heart instead, and she imagined the air between them cooling. When she looked up, though, she realized Ouma’s face was still very much red, her hand curled tight and white-knuckled where she had left it. Saihara’s brow furrowed and stilled her hand at Ouma’s pulse.  _ Did my touch affect her that much?!  _

It seemed unlikely though, because Ouma’s expression didn’t change at all. Saihara puzzled a few seconds longer when Ouma suddenly flicked her gaze up to make eye contact for a brief, shy moment before looking back down at her shoulder. Her lips pressed together, and Saihara thought that she looked like she was almost  _ waiting  _ for something, and then it clicked. Ouma wanted Saihara to “show her”, but didn’t know how to ask. Saihara slowly moved her hand back up to Ouma’s face. Ouma gasped soundlessly.

Her feet had been brought up to rest on the sides of the chair, strap-clad knees uncomfortably knocking together as the fun-sized Ultimate attempted to curl into herself. Had Saihara not been keeping her chin in a vice grip, her hands would likely be wrapped around thin calves than jacket-clad arms, face buried in between. To any other, it may look like Ouma was tentatively rejecting Saihara, and, honestly, Saihara had seen this pose before and assumed just that (there was a reason their relationship had progressed quite...slow). Now enlightened by a few months of crushing and actually dating, the detective knew that this was just Ouma being a baby. 

“Are you shy?” Saihara murmured. She forward until she carefully split locked knees apart, settling between them as the two sat chest to chest.

Ouma’s mouth barely moved, trying to respond with a witty comment but falling short to the task, settling on keeping it slightly open instead. Saihara’s eyes flickered down to her plush bottom lip, and moved the pad of her thumb from the corner of Ouma’s lip to directly upon, dipping inwards to push it further outwards and reveal a hint of pink gum. No breath came upon pitch-painted nails, and Saihara pressed into Ouma’s side to remind her to breathe, fond in the reminiscence of her girlfriend’s behavior to her own as a child.

Ouma sucked in a sharp breath, slightly coughing in tune to Saihara’s quiet laugh. When she recovered enough, she huffed, face still dyed red and lip still pushed back, her evidence against such an unfair accusation. She did not get very far.

“I’m not  _ shy,  _ stop  _ projecting _ , Saihar-  _ Sai- Mmph—”  _

Ouma attempted to speak over the onslaught of Saihara’s kiss, but failed miserably as dark red lips pried pale pink apart, roughly burying words into the back of the dictator’s mind. Saihara’s fingers moved from delicately holding Ouma’s chin to gripping her entire jaw, the hand at Ouma’s slim waist digging hard into white fabric. Ouma keened and pawed at Saihara’s hands, tense in Saihara’s hold, and shivered when the whoosh of a delighted exhale sluiced over her damp lips. 

Saihara removed her hand from Ouma’s abdomen to grab at one of Ouma’s arms, prying it from its weak grip upon Saihara’s own wrist. The larger girl used her height and position advantage to pull the tight arm into the air, caging Ouma’s body with her own. She petted Ouma's neck once, removing her hand to switch her palm from facing upward to an almost chokehold grasp, pinkies no longer pressing into a plump cheek but against a pulsing carotid. Ouma scrambled to adjust as Saihara pushed forward, ever so slightly applying pressure upon Ouma’s ribs, rocking the girl’s precarious position into bending backwards over the desk. 

Saihara felt the girl beneath her cringe softly at the contact of her skull to wood, and she pulled away to shake her hair out of her face before leaning back down. Stunned lavender had blinked open, unfocused and dilated, and they only widened when Saihara pressed her smile back onto Ouma’s shocked pout. The detective did not mind at all, and let her own eyes fall half-lidded, fluttering, fully closed, charmed at her girlfriend’s curiosity.

Saihara was by  _ no means  _ a…cherry girl, as Ouma called it. She was more endeared than affected by such a simple kiss that was mostly her doing the work, but it was endearing to watch Ouma come apart and subsequently come back into herself, attempting to kiss just as hard right back. Saihara did not doubt that it must’ve been uncomfortable for the liar, what with her odd orientation against the desk, but she doubted either of them cared very much. The kiss became terribly clumsy, and fondness softened yellow eyes as Saihara blinked to look properly at Ouma’s concentrated face.

Ouma had a habit of leaving her eyes narrowed when highly focused, no matter if she was playing a game of chess or planning an elaborate prank on the Principal, and kissing was absolutely  _ not  _ an exception. Saihara, on the other hand, tended to close her eyes like any normal person in a kiss, which worked out for the Supreme Leader who did not like making eye contact when she was embarrassed. It did not help that Saihara decided to tease her partner and slip her tongue between aggressive, trembling lips out of the blue, either. And when Saihara’s eyes opened, cheerful yellow returning to slitted lavender at the sensation of a soft tongue curling, unfamiliar yet practiced, into Ouma’s mouth, the latter’s eyes slammed fully open. A startled squeak left her, she turned to the side to break the kiss. Ouma returned to an attempt of her earlier curled-up position, knees digging into Saihara’s sides and this time with support of the table flat than of the table edge, and covered her face with her hands, trembling.

Saihara’s eyebrows quirked, delighted. 

“Ouma-chan…”

Ouma peered at Saihara between thin fingers, eyebrows furrowed in irritation. Her pout quirked farther down her face, becoming more of a childish frown.

“Shut up!  _ I  _ broke the kiss and you didn’t even let me get a word in!” Ouma’s breaths were heavy, heaving breaths that brushed against Saihara’s own rising and falling chest, and her words were accordingly gasping. Even so, she moved her body up and off the table, just enough to point one French-tipped nail between Saihara’s eyes. “Saihara-chan doesn’t have  _ any  _ care for my feelings! Playing me like that! Trying new things on me out of the blue! I only came here for a hug and andmaybeonekiss  _ but _ \- it was still only one kiss I asked for! Saihara-chan, you’re such a pervert!”

The effect of Ouma’s rant was lessened by her inability to string it all into a single breath, and Saihara peered dryly down at her brat of a girlfriend.

“Ouma-chan has been eyeing my mouth consideringly all week, even when we kiss all the time. I _am_ the Ultimate Detective, you know, and I know you only do things like this when you want to try something new. You’ve even dogeared all your manga from Iruma-san at the kiss-scenes, too…I think you wanted me to figure out what you wanted for you.”

Saihara smiled and raised her own finger to twine into the one between her eyes, the pale of her own cool-toned skin barely contrasting with the natural ruddy-pink of Ouma’s. She brought their fingers down, and raised her other hand into her own point at her girlfriend, arm as straight as she could fit, a childish recreation of her closing stance when finalizing a case summary or winning a debate. 

“Not to mention I know for a  _ fact  _ you didn’t just come here for a hug and a kiss. It’s, what, 22:15 right now? Only a few minutes before your usual bedtime, and you came in with a pile of clothes that you left on the floor!” Saihara swiveled around to point at a heap she had ignored previously, now ignoring the little leader’s jaw dropping. “You came here to sleep with me because you don’t want to miss me too much, but you’re too baby to admit it.” 

Saihara beamed proudly at Ouma, her natural truth-seeking persona having taken over midway through her flirtatious argument. Ouma stared back, eyebrows raised and her face vividly projectly “can-you-believe-this-bitch?”. Her free arm crossed over her chest to accentuate her deadpan. Saihara sheepishly lowered her arms and released Ouma, giggles evolving into full out laughter as the tiny girl got off her lap to grab her discarded pajamas disgruntledly. 

Still laughing, Saihara propped her chin up by her palm, sitting forward on her desk, content as Ouma set out her nightset on the desktop and began to unbutton her jacket.

Ouma reached out an arm for Saihara to unbelt as she continued unbuttoning and unstrapping, her face vaguely disgruntled and voice matching.

“Yeah, yeah, figure me out in five seconds and crush all my hopes and dreams while you’re at it, mhm.” 

Saihara shook her head, and moved to the next arm, still looking up at Ouma as she continued grumbling, complaints diminishing into nonsense, eyes still rolled to the side. The jacket slipped easily from bony shoulders, and Saihara got up to grab the long white sleepshirt, probably stolen from Amami ages ago. The urge to make a joke at Ouma’s expense choked Saihara as she watched her tiny girlfriend raise her arms for Saihara to slip the shirt over, not even caring anymore of the “baby” implication. Ouma was done acting for the night, Saihara mused, combing her fingers through Ouma’s soft strands while short legs slipped out of white pants and into sleep shorts. 

As soon as Saihara finished the few buttons of the sleepshirt, Ouma flopped face first onto the bed, shimmying into “her” corner against the wall. Surprised, Saihara almost asked what was wrong, before Ouma lifted her face to glare pointedly at the full fit of school-issue blazer, blouse, skirt, and leggings ( _ yes,  _ Saihara took advantage of the customizable uniform every once in a while but...school-issue was  _ so  _ much easier), and Saihara  _ ah- _ ed, noting the difference in the state of dress between herself and her ready-for-bed companion. 

She got up and walked to her own wardrobe, pulling off her blazer as she went, picking out a simple nightdress from the racks filled with whites and navy blues. She laid the dress across her arm and palmed at the light switch behind the wardrobe, and turned back towards Ouma, who had mostly cocooned herself in the blankets by now. Saihara hummed, content.

“Ouma-chan doesn’t have to wait for me. I’ll be back when I’m done.”

Ouma grumbled and waved a hand, and Saihara took this as consent as she walked to the bathroom to change, preferring the privacy that Ouma didn’t care much for. Through the open door, Saihara listened as Ouma’s breathing slowed and deepened until soft snores and the rustling of changing clothes were the only things that could be heard. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> what the fuck, i cant write. but jfc if thisnt better than my work as a yoi stan and JFC is this isnt better than my work as a snk stan and j f c if this isnt better than my work as a fairy tail stan. im dying scoobs but apparently practice makes perfect?? lmao....
> 
> anyways do yall know how to end a fanfic bc tjis is legitimately the only one that i havent ended half way through bc i got intimidated + i didnt wanna end with them going to sleep 😒✌️ HELP ME OUT GUYS LOLOKEHNWKAJD 😔


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